


Maybe

by thedoctorwatcheshetalia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Omegaverse, childhood omegaverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8196605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoctorwatcheshetalia/pseuds/thedoctorwatcheshetalia
Summary: A six-year-old Alfred wants Arthur to be his boyfriend, but it so happens that they have a bit of a language barrier.





	1. Maybe

## [mey-bee]

 **Adverb**  
1\. Perhaps; possibly

 **Noun**  
2\. A possibility or uncertainty.

* * *

~~Deer~~ Dear arthur,

will yuo be my boyfrend?

circle YES or NO!!

* * *

Alfred bit his lip, paper crinkling beneath his hands as he smoothed it onto the flat of his desk. Ms. Hayes had taught them how to fold hot-dog and hamburger style earlier that day! Alfred’s favorite was hamburger, of course. He was practically an expert on it. No other alpha could fold paper with a crease right along the blue line.

He surveyed his writing- it was way neater than the alpha’s that was sitting next to him. Though Alfred could barely see it, he knew it to be true because he was six! Months older than the other kids in his neighborhood, making him the expert on all things adult. He was practically a grown up already, what with the fact that his mom let him drink soda, he could score two touchdowns against his dad and-

And… if this went right, he’d be the first in his school to have a boyfriend.

Alfred pursed his lips, craning his neck to gaze past the body of the rather large Ms. Hayes blocking his view. It annoyed him to be so far away, but that was how it was in their school. Alphas on one side of the class, omegas on the other, and betas in between. Alfred wouldn’t have cared either way- he was fine on his side of the class. No whiny omegas complaining about papercuts, no boring betas- Just him and the other alphas, Alfred was king of the pack. He made sure of it the day he showed up at the school, just like his dad had told him to do.

(Ms. Hayes refused to be in his pack but dad told him the teacher wasn’t game. That didn’t stop him from trying, though.)

But _one_ omega. The one omega that made the distance matter, Arthur, who seemed so sweet and mild that Alfred had a hard time believing it was the same guy who sassed him on the first day they met. Alfred thought that omegas were the first to submit, and approaching him weeks ago on Arthur’s first day at their school, Alfred could see it. A skinny omega in shorts, socks that rolled up to his knees and a warm sweater to keep his pale body from the cold.

Alfred had offered his jacket as a sign of peace. He didn’t know why… Arthur just looked cold and Alfred wanted him to be the warmest he could be. Never before had he felt the need to willingly give his things to someone else- he’d slipped out of his warm, fuzzy coat and held it out abashedly, expecting his token of friendship to be accepted. Alfred _always_ got what he wanted. 

“I don’t want it,” Arthur had responded instead.

Alfred was taken aback more than hurt. Omegas were supposed to love warm things! He knew his brother did- and his mother, so why not Arthur? He voiced it, “Aren’t you cold? Omegas get cold a lot!”

“I only wear what’s mine.” Arthur had clarified before stomping off to sit on his side of the classroom. Ms. Hayes had watched with a chuckle, to which Alfred responded with a growl in her direction that seemed to stop her in her tracks.

(She wasn’t ‘scared’ of Alfred like the alpha had thought. In fact, she called his parents later that day, “Your alpha son is adamant on asserting his dominance on every _breathing_ thing in the classroom-”)

Alfred swung his legs in his seat, twisting his body excitedly as Ms. Hayes moved to the middle of the classroom to assist the betas in writing their journal sentences. There he was, Arthur, in shorts and a sweater, his dark brows thickened to a concentrated scribble as he dragged his crayon neatly against his paper. 

Ms. Hayes glanced over her shoulder and gave him an approving clap, to which Arthur responded with a tiny blush. She  _loved_ him, she’d say it every single time they had a parent meet and greet. And even during those, Alfred would try to talk to Arthur, only to find him either fighting some beta or reading his book on the omega playground, a place alphas weren’t allowed to be in. 

Which is why Alfred was excited for recess today. Even though the playground was divided so alphas had to stay on the mulch and omegas had a carpeted, soft play area, Alfred figured he could send a beta to the omegas’ side to deliver his letter. Betas could go around wherever they wanted. 

“Alright kids, let’s finish this up after recess!”

Alfred was among the alphas who shot out of their seats and scattered to the playground on the first chime of the bell. The betas followed along but only after the omegas, who were equally eager to continue their games of nest and feed the stuffed animals they’d neglected for so long. 

Through the window, Alfred could see Arthur trailing behind, lips pulled down in a frown. He wasn’t like the others, the grownups at the parties Alfred’s mom would host said it was because Arthur’s parents were inadikit? _Inadequate?_ That is, for raising someone with a nature meant to be soft and forgiving. 

Arthur’s dad was an alpha… but so was his mom.

It wouldn’t have bothered Alfred save for the fact that his dad had sat him down about it just recently. “Son, you find yourself the perfect omega when the time comes, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Alfred had echoed back.

In all honesty, Arthur really was the perfect omega, right? Everyone was so mean to him, and if he could shrug it off like no big deal, that was perfect enough. Alfred supposed that when he was Arthur’s boyfriend he’d bite anyone who said anything, and Arthur would smile in his direction.

Yeah, Alfred decided he’d like that very much.

And so he flagged down the first beta he saw and shoved his letter in their hands. “Read it and I’ll kill you. Go give it to Arthur.”

That seemed to catch a few ears. Alphas stilled their movements and threw their gazes around curiously, to which Alfred dismissed them with a snarl, “What are you lookin’ at?”

They went back to playing pretend fight.

The beta dropped a look at the letter before making his way across the playground and nudging Arthur, who sat farther away, playing discontentedly with the green bunny he brought from his house. Arthur had tried to play in the alpha section more than once, but Ms. Hayes had yelled, and as much as Alfred wanted to bite her for it, he instead watched as Arthur would balefully slink back to his fluffy corner. Alfred took note of that while keeping his eyes trained on Arthur. The omega gingerly unfolded the paper and cast a look in his direction.

Then, eyes went back down to the paper and Alfred could see pale cheeks darken. A few omegas had peeked over Arthur’s shoulder and began to giggle amongst themselves, to which Alfred turned an equally dark shade of red.

Everyone knew what a boyfriend was. Alfred was the first to want one, but no doubt, others would soon follow his example. 

Arthur tiptoed into the classroom, swiped a pencil off his desk and went to town. Alfred watched with furrowed brows as the paper was delivered back to the beta who in turn put it in Alfred’s almost trembling hands.

Arthur had written a word in the middle. A neat, _MAYBE_ adorned with a wobbly circle.

And an additional: You spelled “you” and “boyfriend” wrong, but I’m willing to look past that.

Alfred blinked, squinting down at the word that stuck out like a sore thumb, something so foreign he had not one clue what it meant.

M… Maybe?

In fear of looking stupid, Alfred just nodded and smiled. Perhaps “maybe” was something along the lines of “yes, yes, yes!”? 

Or it could equally be, “no, no, no!”. 

Alfred tried not to think about it. Instead, he went back to class in silence after recess was over and ate his snacks with the other alphas, sneaking glances at Arthur, who sat alone. Green eyes would glance back at him almost expectantly before scowling back down into his lunchbox.

Alfred was supposed to do something, wasn’t he? He frowned, tongue darting in a gap where a tooth once was, as he always did when he was nervous. Asking Ms. Hayes was out of the question, she’d be nosy about it. Or worse, make him look it up in the dikshionary (dicshunary? God knew how to spell it) himself! 

Alfred would go ask his mom when he went home. 

Confidence with his plan in mind, Alfred let himself sit through the rest of class in triumphant silence. Giving Ms. Hayes a break from his mischief seemed to be the best way to celebrate.

* * *

“Duh- deh… _definition_ of maybe… _what’s a definition-_ p- perhaps!? The heck’s that mean?”

Dicshonaries (dictionarys? Ugh) really weren’t the best option for Alfred. He groaned, squinting down at the tiny print for one last try before throwing his head back and hollering for his mom.

* * *

“Arthur!”

“Go away.”

Alfred stopped in his tracks, a frown on his face as he turned back to his mother for assistance. She gave him a warm smile and nudged him forward.

“Now Arthur.” Arthur’s dad scolded, squatting down to his height and brushing his hair back against his scalp, “Don’t be mean.”

Arthur sniffled, turning back to face Alfred with a tilt of his chin, “Why are you here?”

Alfred cast another look at his mom, who rolled his eyes and pointed to the box Alfred held in his hands. A nod. Alfred turned back to Arthur, “I asked my mom what ‘maybe’ meant and she said it was an almost-yes, so I got you a present.”

Arthur blinked, “Oh… you- you didn’t know what ‘maybe’ meant?”

Alfred nodded sheepishly. After what seemed to be hours of silence, Arthur then folded his arms.

“Well, I’ll kill you if it’s a teddy bear.” 

The grownups laughed and that seemed to irritate the little omega further.

“People always give me teddy bears!”

“It’s not,” Alfred assured, placing the box in Arthur’s waiting hands.

Ear pressed against the cardboard, Arthur shook it about, seeming perplexed at the rattle. He let it fall to the ground and followed by dropping to his knees, tearing at the packaging as his parents scolded him from behind.

“Arthur, you’re muddying yourself up!”

Alfred slunk behind his mom’s legs. 

After he’d told his mom about the letter, they had agreed to meet at the park, unknowing to Arthur. Alfred’s mom did laugh at him, though, and Alfred, red-faced, had hit her legs relentlessly- to which she responded with a- “Honey, sometimes if you want something, you’ve gotta reach out and grab it, it won’t always be waiting for you!”

As usual, the matter slipped by Alfred’s dad intentionally. God knew what he’d say about Alfred “pursuing a relationship of any sort with the neighborhood outcasts”.

But the thought of a rowdy boy like Alfred having someone equally challenging as a companion tickled Alfred’s mom to the point of arranging a meeting behind the house alpha’s back.

A pop. Arthur’s parents squinted down at the content of the now open box. 

“… woodchips?” 

Alfred’s mom had been confused by his choice of a gift as well, but Alfred always _did_ get what he wanted. 

It seemed to be just the right move too, seeing as Arthur’s green eyes shone and a toothy grin spread across his cheeks.

“Arthur has a slide in his house.” Alfred explained, toe digging abashedly into the spongey grass, “He can put the mulch around it like we have at school. Ms. Hayes doesn’t let him play in it ‘cause he’s an omega.”

“What do we say, Arthur?” Arthur’s parents urged, not having to do so. Arthur had already shot up and thrown his arms around an unsuspecting Alfred, who staggered back but nevertheless wrapped his own arms around the other’s small frame.

“Thank you, Alfred!”

Alfred giggled as he lifted Arthur off his feet. It was hard to tell if his face was red with embarrassment or by the breathlessness caused by Alfred’s hold around his chest, but neither of them cared.

It was only when the grownups collected elsewhere and Alfred was left alone with Arthur did he bring up the first among a set of questions he’d prepared.

“So… uh, what do boyfriends do?”

Arthur shrugged, hands digging into his mulch, “My parents kiss all the time.”

Alfred gagged, “Ew! Kissing is for old people!”

“How about a high-five?”

“… or a secret-boyfriend-handshake!”

Alfred discovered that through the grins that followed, Arthur had a tooth missing too. 


	2. Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An older Alfred doesn't understand why his best friend, Arthur, and his girlfriend don't get along

## [id-ee-uh t]

**Noun**

1\. _Informal._  An utterly foolish or senseless person

**Adverb**

2\. _Informal._ Arthur Kirkland’s unique way of expressing conformation. _See the word: yes._

* * *

“Artie, baby! It’s been too long!”

It had only been a few days since she’d seen Arthur, but Mrs. Jones liked to make a fuss. 

To Alfred, however, it _had_ been long. What with exams coming up, Arthur did what he usually did- spent wasted hours squinting down at the words in his textbooks, locked away from any human interaction in his bedroom. The only explanation Alfred would receive was that an omega had to work harder to get into college. He supposed that _was_ true, but it was hard to say that Arthur was even studying in the first place. 

He never really did like human interaction, and lately, he’d been conjuring excuses left and right for the sole purpose of _not_ hanging out with Alfred. It was likely that the whole studying thing could’ve just been a complicated ruse, an excuse, something not a _total_ surprise coming from the crafty little omega. 

Alfred rolled his eyes as his mother scooped Arthur up into her arms, peppering his face with wet kisses. “You’ve _got_ to come sleep over soon. Alfred’s fussy, he’s always complaining about how cold the bed is without you!”

“Is that so?”

Arthur was smirking at him now, and it shouldn’t have bothered him. But considering the circumstances-

Alfred’s red-faced response was through gritted teeth,  _“Mom-”_

His mother, like every mother of a semi-attractive, popular alpha, was rather embarrassing. Not to the extent that the embarrassing-ness would only appear in the occasional campfire story, but rather _more_ so. Her embarrassing-ness was something of a usual thing, more open to the public. 

She always chose the worst times, whether it was laughing at wine-mom memes at a funeral, or, in their case now, sharing a bit too much information in the midst of people that would’ve been better off without it. 

To take as an example, Alfred’s girlfriend. 

“You two _sleep_ together? _”_ She hissed, to which Alfred responded with a weary, helpless smile. To everyone else, something as innocent as a sleepover, especially at their _ripe_ age- what, being an alpha and an omega- would be something one would think twice about revealing. When it came to his mother, of course, she was either sly or totally oblivious. 

A trait that, Arthur would later say, was one she passed down to Alfred. 

Mrs. Jones looped Arthur back into her arms, dragging him across the doorstep and into the threshold of their house, “Aw, baby, you look cold- come to mama.” 

Alfred found himself smiling at the scene, a smile that quirked back down into a frown as his girlfriend nudged his chest, furious for not having been given an answer. “Al, your mom barely noticed me here.”

“Babe, it’s chill. She hasn’t seen Artie-” She glared and he corrected himself, “- _Arthur_ in a long time.”

She didn’t like when he gave Arthur nicknames. It didn’t stop him from doing it in private, though. 

“Well, she’s _never_ seen me.” She grumbled, following Alfred’s lead as Mr. Jones came to shut the door behind them.

The inside-situation was arguably worse than the outside-one.

Besides the numerous pictures of a younger Alfred and Arthur on their walls- a particular one of a shy kiss he’d placed on Arthur’s cheek had Alfred smiling in reminiscence- there were the aromas wafting in from the kitchen. His mother’s famous pre-Thanksgiving dinner. 

It was only after he invited his girlfriend did he realize just how bad of an idea the whole thing had been, well, seeing as the pre-Thanksgiving tradition itself centered around Alfred’s friend of thirteen years, one his date didn’t happen to like very much. 

It was meant to be a separate feast for the Kirkland and Jones family to enjoy together. They’d been friends for so long, and though it had started with one childish infatuation, the Kirkland family grew dear to them- even to his father, a certain Mr. Jones who’d gotten over his hatred of the two alphas, Mr. and Mr. Kirkland.  

Alfred’s girlfriend nudged him yet again, this time harder, and the alpha cleared his throat. “Ma, this is my girlfriend, Abigail.”

Mrs. Jones paused in her actions of cooing over Arthur’s _cute little bed head_ to toss a rather plain look in Alfred’s direction, “Nice to meet you, Abigail, have a seat.”

She then turned back to pinching Arthur’s cheeks, to which Arthur laughed- that rare, sweet, twinkling laugh that put a crinkle in his freckled nose. It had been so long since Arthur _wasn’t_ buried in his studies, or at least that’s what it felt like to Alfred. The change in his stoic mood put a smile on Alfred’s lips.

One that was immediately crushed by his girlfriend leaning in to whisper snidely in his ear, “Doesn’t wearing shorts with sweaters defeat the purpose?”

Alfred frowned, glancing over at the chunky sweater nestled on Arthur’s shoulders, sleeves down to the middles of his palms. A pair of shorts peeked out beneath them- they must’ve been new, Alfred had never seen them before. And those creamy pale legs that seemed to go on for days-

“I think it’s cute.”

Abigail sat down on the couch and Alfred followed, oblivious to the seething narrow of her eyes. 

Mr. Jones sat awkwardly across from them- he was a man of few words. Mrs. Jones did the talking, and once she’d stolen Arthur away to sample her butter cookies in the kitchen, the rest of them had fallen into an awkward silence.

One that didn’t last very long, thank god. “I’m sorry my parents couldn’t make it, they’re in England with grandmama.” 

Arthur’s voice was closer now. He slipped back into the living room, plopping down next to where Alfred had been sitting on the couch and curling into the alpha’s side with a whisper, “Your mum won’t let me _breathe_ without telling me it sounds adorable.”

Though Abigail’s annoyance had boiled to the point of an audible growl, Alfred ignored it, responding with a flick to the point of Arthur’s nose, “You can’t show up looking adorable without expecting to be called adorable, old man.”

“Shut up, _fatass.”_ Arthur poked the dimple in Alfred’s cheek, a playful smile hidden behind a scowl. He wasn’t wrong, Arthur had an endearing dressing habit. A sweater, a pair of shorts and knee-high socks- a combination he’d been wearing since the very first day they met. 

It was textbook adorable, only made even _more_ so by Arthur’s constant denial of it.

“Aren’t you cold or something?” 

Despite the sarcasm, Abigail was right. Their breaths had come out in condensed puffs outside, and Arthur looked positively pale. Even his nose pinkened in the way it always did in the cold. 

Alfred suppressed the need to swaddle him and feed him warm soup, “Yeah, Art, grab one of my sweaters instead, they’re warmer. You know where they are.”

Abigail stared in Alfred’s direction and he shot her a warning look that had her glaring back down into her lap. 

“I only wear what’s mine.” Arthur jumped back onto his feet, retreating into the kitchen to help with the plates as he always did.  

Alfred watched after him with a smile, “He never grew up.”

He could’ve said the same for himself, but Alfred never lingered on it. He found that bringing up the past would have a negative feeling on his calm heart, which would find itself suddenly plagued with pangs of something Alfred couldn’t identify. 

Abigail narrowed her eyes, “I’m going to go help with the plates too.”

“Nah, babe, Arthur’s got it.”

If Mr. Jones’ warning look wasn’t enough, Abigail practically leaped off her seat, storming after Arthur with a growled- “Well, Arthur’s got _everything,_ doesn’t he.”

Alfred looked helplessly in his father’s direction, only to receive a “you’re honestly stupid, Alfred” in response.

He sighed and followed after her.

* * *

“Arthur, fill the glasses with some water, will you?”

“I’ll do it, Mrs. Jones!” Abigail was on the job with a painfully bright smile.

“Aw, thank you, hun.” Mrs. Jones’ response was coupled with a simple smile before she went back to checking the temperature of the potatoes.

Abigail grinned in triumph and tossed Arthur a smug smirk, to which the omega frowned slightly and stepped to Alfred’s side.

“She’s trying awfully hard, Alfred, I don’t think she likes me at all.”

“Who couldn’t like you, Artie?” Alfred ruffled Arthur’s pale-golden hair, chuckling as cold hands swatted back at him. “Want me to talk to her about it?”

Arthur spared a glance back at Abigail, who, out of earshot, had begun to furiously swipe at the water she’d spilt on the table. “I don’t like her either, so it doesn’t matter, now does it?”

“You omegas really don’t get along.” Alfred mused, unknowing to the slight frown on Arthur’s lips.

“Well, we have reasons-”

“Enough chatter! Dinner is ready!” Mrs. Jones giggled, and Alfred ducked away from the conversation with a lick of his lips, joining his father as they plucked the food-laden plates off the counters to transfer them to the dinner table.

Arthur bit his lip.

* * *

“- and he had me buy a whole box of wood chips to get Arthur to  _‘be his boyfriend’_.” 

Mrs. Jones punctuated the end of her long and rather embarrassing story with a loud peal of laughter (to which Mr. Jones responded with-  _“Why am I just now hearing of this?”)._

“We were too young to know what boyfriends did.” Arthur said, sounding small, “We were more best friends, really.”

“Yeah!” Alfred agreed with a laugh. Arthur parted his lips to respond, but Alfred was a bit too hasty to follow up with a few words of his own. “Ugh, by the way, mom these potatoes are _so_ good.” 

Arthur frowned slightly, “Ah, yes, they are.” 

They were just right- crisp and seasoned on the outside, soft on the inside. Apparently, he was something of a messy eater because Abigail giggled, tilting his chin towards her as she dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

She seemed relieved at the change of topic. “Alfred, you’re so messy, isn’t he Mrs. Jones?”

Mrs. Jones nodded with a polite smile, tearing at her turkey with her fork, “He’s a nineteen-year-old baby, I tell you.”

“Oh, um- _Al.”_ Arthur said, and Alfred found his head being steered in Arthur’s direction by those slim, cold hands, “You simply _must_ have the stuffing your mum made, Martha it’s fantastic!”

Alfred dazedly parted his lips for the spoon Arthur prodded towards him. It wasn’t like him to be feeding Alfred like this, much less call him anything that wasn’t ‘Alfred’ or an insult.

But well, the stuffing _was_ good.

“Thank you, Arthur.” Mrs. Jones said, hiding her smile behind her glass.

Abigail growled under her breath and her scent spiked, a docile apple-spice with a blooming bitter bite. It was something Alfred was unfortunately used to. She always got like this around Arthur, he didn’t really know why.

“It’s finally glad to meet you, Mrs. Jones, Alfred’s told me a lot about you!”

Ah, no, he hadn’t. It was made evident in Abigail’s wild eyes when Mrs. Jones voiced- “What’d he say?”

“That you were… a… an amazing cook!”

“Alfred always did prefer Arthur’s food more.” Mrs. Jones said nonchalantly, sipping from her water as her eyes cast a knowing look in Arthur’s direction.

Alfred laughed at the pink flooding into Arthur’s cheeks, “Arthur’s baking is top notch.”

Oh god, Arthur had to be the worst cook in the history of mankind. The scorch marks on the stove, the black stain on the kitchen ceiling, the charred smudges that never seemed to budge no matter how hard Alfred scrubbed at the oven- they were all courtesies of Arthur’s apparent need on making something for Alfred at least once a month, he seemed adamant about it.

And even if it meant having to choke it down and lie out of his ass, the look on Arthur’s face was something Alfred wouldn’t dare miss out on. The smug, pleased little smile on his lips when Alfred told him the crunchiest part of the muffins were his favorite anyways- and the warm pink on the apples of his cheeks when Alfred would clean up every slightly-salty crumb of the sugar cookies-

Priceless.

“Well then, you haven’t tasted my baking yet.” Abigail said, chest swollen with pride, “I make a mean chocolate pie, I’m sure you’d love it, Alfie.”

With that she giggled again, leaning into Alfred’s side and running a hand over his bicep.

“Well, he likes apple pie more, actually.” Arthur said, bringing his fork to his lips as if the comment was just a friendly suggestion when his smirk suggested otherwise, “Didn’t you know?”

“Alphas get bored if they have too much of the same old thing.” Abigail responded, equally smug, “You’d be surprised to see what he’d like _better_ than something he had for thirteen years.”

Arthur’s scent spiked from his usual mildly-sweet ‘tea and biscuits’to a tart, spicier one, and Alfred grinned obliviously, “Well, it’s not like I’ve been eating apple pie for thirteen years, Abby.”

Mr. Jones buried his face in his palms with an almost inaudible, “Idiot.”

Alfred shrugged. 

“So-!” Mrs. Jones chirped, a bit too brightly, “Arthur, when will you bring home a respectable alpha of your own?”

The omega stiffened, peering down into his plate. Alfred missed the sympathetic glance Mrs. Jones shot in Arthur’s direction.

“Dylan thinks Arthur’s hot.” Alfred said with a chuckle, washing down his vegetables with his soda, “He’s thinking about asking Artie out.”

Dylan, a friend from football. There was nothing lacking in the physical department, and Alfred would know, what with his few stray glances in the alphas’ locker room. He was perfect, which was why Alfred didn’t quite understand the change in Arthur’s mood whenever he brought it up.

“I don’t like him.”

Well, Alfred supposed he could understand it. “I never said I’d let you go out with him, he’s a low-key sleaze.”

It was true. Dylan was already ten romantic partners into the school year, all the while admitting his physical attraction for Arthur long before his recent breakup. It was gross, there was no way Alfred was letting it happen.

Arthur deserved better, which was hard to find in their particular school. No one knew their way around him- the fact that Arthur’s lips trembled when he was upset, the fact that it took a warm, home cooked meal to console him… No one knew how he liked things- the milk to tea ratio, the optimal comfort position for a hug, the fact that he liked being kissed on the neck, that his favorite color was green, that he was extremely ticklish and denied the hell out of it-

Now that he thought about it, anyone could’ve known that if they were given enough time to figure it out.

Alfred just didn’t like the idea of that person being any other than him.

“Would you like some pineapple, hun?” Mrs. Jones’s voice cut into the silence. Alfred found himself blurting out a response.

“Arthur doesn’t like pineapples.”

“Er, that’s right, I don’t,” Arthur said.

Mrs. Jones offered the bowl in Abigail’s direction. She seemed to look at Alfred expectantly, and when she got no response, she sighed, spooning in some stuffing.

“I don’t like pineapples either.”

* * *

“It’s getting late, Martha, I should go home.”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Jones protested, “You know full well you can sleep here, Arthur, your parents aren’t home anyway!”

“My brothers are.” Arthur replied with a trembling smile, “I should go.”

Dinner had been long finished- the table cleared, dishes in the sink. They’d moved into the living room again to make better conversation, and Alfred had saved the seat beside him hoping- no, _knowing_ Arthur would sit there.

But he hadn’t.

It shouldn’t have meant as much as it did, but now Arthur was leaving early, and Alfred couldn’t shake the feeling he’d done something wrong.

He peeled away from Abigail’s grip and brushed off his trousers, “Come on, I’m walking you out.”

“No-” There it was again. The spike in his scent. Alfred _had_ done something wrong, clearly, if Arthur was this distressed.

He frowned. It was only until Alfred’s parents took up mindless small talk with Abigail that he ushered Arthur back into the kitchen, much to the omega’s protest. 

That was how it always was with him- he’d deny everything so _vehemently,_ whether it was the fact that he was ticklish or that something bothered him to the point that he couldn’t make eye contact with his best friend of more than a decade.

Alfred took that pale face into his palms, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m tired, idiot.”

A relieved smile, “Is that all?”

Apparently, it wasn’t. Arthur’s annoyed expression became one of outright anger and he shook away from Alfred’s hold, folding his arms as his scent continued to plummet, tarter and tarter, smokier and thicker, until it stung Alfred’s throat to inhale. 

“That’s all.”

“It’s cold outside, Artie, take my jacket-”

“Save it for your girlfriend.” And he was gone, storming away like Alfred had said something forbidden, something apparently so offensive he found the need to be angered by it. Suddenly it wasn’t just confusion, Alfred decided he would be angry as well. All he’d done was be patient, and now this?

Alfred stomped into the living room, “We’re leaving, Abby.”

“It’s getting late.” Abigail said with a polite smile, “Have a good night Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”

Alfred didn’t hear their responses. He was at the door, peering outside at Arthur’s receding figure, watching as it turned around the curb.

“I’m ready to go, Al.”

Alfred’s smile was plastic as Abigail stepped out beside him. The door closed.

“It’s really cold out here.” She said with a laugh, rubbing at her goosebumped arms.

It really was. Alfred tried not to think about Arthur walking home alone. It took all his willpower not to chase after him and pull him into his arms, keep him from shivering, trembling. 

He could never stay mad.

Alfred slipped on his jacket, nodding along absentmindedly, “Yeah, honestly. I need to go buy a scarf or something.”

“I forgot to bring my jacket.” 

 _Oh._ Alfred shrugged his own one off, holding it to her with downcast eyes, “Yeah, I’m sorry, do you wanna wear mine or-?”

“Arthur didn’t have to ask for you to offer him one.” Was her icy response.

Alfred could sense it in her scent, the lemony spray of jealousy. It had been with her for so long Alfred was convinced it was part of her, but now that he took the time to pick it apart, he could see it mirrored in her stony eyes. Alfred was a grade-A idiot.

“Did you hear what your parents said to me? When you went into the kitchen?”

Alfred chewed his lip. He was reluctant to shake his head.

“They asked me if I thought Arthur was okay.” She rolled her eyes, breath coming out in puffs. “That’s all that matters to you _and_ your family. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.”

“Abby, I’m sorry-”

“Did you know I could bake?”

No, he didn’t. He really didn’t. He didn’t know she could bake, he didn’t know she hated pineapples, or how to console her, or if she was ticklish. He didn’t know if she liked tea, or how to hug her, or her favorite color-

They’d been dating for a month now, he should’ve known. 

She took his silence as a no. “I didn’t know you liked apple pie.”

Alfred watched her breathe in hesitantly, and breathe back out in frustration.

“When we were six, back in Ms. Hayes’ classroom-”

“I heard she’s married now, she really did hate me,” Alfred said. The chuckle that tumbled out of his lips held no humor, but rather a nervous desperation to diffuse the moment. He never did like confrontation. 

Abigail didn’t laugh along. “The letter you sent to the omega side of the playground, _dear Arthur, will you be my boyfriend?_ I remember thinking- wow, I wish one day, someone would do that for me.”

Alfred pursed his lips. Should he have said something? Probably. 

He just didn’t know what.

“Call me when you decide not to be in love with Arthur.”

* * *

His finger lingered on her contact picture, on a face that wasn’t pale and freckled, hair that wasn’t an untamed blonde, eyes that weren’t green. 

A name that wasn’t Arthur’s. 

Alfred switched off his phone. 

* * *

Dear Arthur,

Will you be my boyfriend?

Circle YES or NO!

* * *

Arthur’s brothers had let him in at the door that morning, no questions asked. This certainly wasn’t the first tantrum Arthur had thrown, and god knew Alfred had experience with dealing with them, even if half of them were primary Alfred’s fault.

The thought of Arthur sulking for the entirety of yesterday brought a smile to his lips. He really was cute when he was mad, with brows all scrunched up and lips pink and pouting. 

The paper in his hand felt heavier now, yet despite his breakup, Alfred was happy. 

He hadn’t been last night, though, when he’d stomped back into his house, raw from Abigail’s words. Just the words of a jealous omega, he told himself. They didn’t mean anything, right? 

Until they did. 

 _“It’s a problem when everyone knows it but you.”_  Had been Mr. Jones’ wise words before he went off with a grunt, possibly to grab himself a beer.

Mrs. Jones had pursed her lips, _“If you want something, you gotta reach out and grab it. It won’t always be waiting for you.”_

A quote so familiar, so applicable. Alfred had decided that it had already waited too long. 

So he knocked on Arthur’s bedroom door thrice.

“I’m studying, go away.”

“No, you’re not.”

Arthur wasn’t. Alfred pushed through the door to find him curled up in bed, the top of his messy blonde hair peeking out from under the covers.

A pillow was thrown unceremoniously in his direction, “Get out of my room!”

Arthur scrambled out of his bed and fought the door shut with Alfred on the other side of it. Alfred willingly lost the fight.

“Artie-”

“Leave.” The voice that responded was close enough to the door for Alfred to follow through with his plan. He bit back a smile, pushing the neatly folded piece of paper under the crack of the door, pressing an ear against the wood to pick up any noises that were to follow: 

A curious _“wh-?”_

A scrape of those short-trimmed fingernails against the paper, a scratch of the paper against the floor.

A small gasp.

Some shuffling, some scribbling.

A knob turning, a door opening.

Alfred grinned, “Forgive me?”

Arthur shoved the note back into Alfred’s chest and Alfred resisted the urge to laugh, however strong it was. They were really doing this.

He opened it gingerly to find a neatly written _maybe_ printed next to the existing choices, adorned with a smooth circle. “Hell no, Kirkland, ‘maybe’ is _not_ in my dictionary this time-”

Arthur had already shot up and thrown his arms around a very suspecting, laughing Alfred, who didn’t stagger back- who found the strength after thirteen years to wrap his own arms around Arthur’s smaller frame and bury his face into the omega’s neck. 

The ‘tea and biscuits’ was now suspiciously laced with a faint smell of roses.  

“What do boyfriends do?” Arthur mumbled, and Alfred found himself laughing, pulling away to smooth Arthur’s hair away from his forehead.

“My parents kiss all the time.”

Arthur bit back a smile, “Kissing is for old people.”

“How about a high-five?”

No, Arthur didn’t seem to want a high five. He gripped Alfred’s forearms until he could lean up, lips touching just barely, _tentatively,_ as if he was testing Alfred out for the very first time, and he was. Arthur leaned back in moments later for the real deal, the cherry on top, a satisfying, breath-stealing kiss between two slightly chapped lips, that was somehow better than any other kiss Alfred had ever had in his entire life.

He leaned away, “Is that a yes?”

Alfred discovered through the laughs that followed, that Arthur had a little dimple too. 

“Idiot.”


End file.
